Grappling for her, he pushed his hand beneath her in order to clutch her mound in his hand, to bring her off.
“You are mine,” he managed to respond, before he drove deeper and sent them both into a spiral of intense and visceral ecstasy.
* * *
Later, as he held her body in the crook of his arm and she slumbered against his chest, Roderick found himself dreaming of keeping her, of setting up a home somewhere as Brady had done with his woman, so that he might keep and visit her. It even crossed his mind to set down roots on land, in order to be with her all the time. But when he looked at her, he saw an educated lady, one whose hardships might always remain a mystery, too. Could he ever hope to win a woman like that?
“I’m glad you were my first lover, Captain Roderick Cameron,” she’d said while he washed them both down, readying them for sleep.
Roderick couldn’t reply, because what he wanted to say was that he should be her one and only lover, forever. Instead, he’d dried her off and taken her back to bed and held her tight to him.
As the night deepened, however, his thoughts grew more troubled. His crew’s earlier comments about her haunted him. Most of all he wondered if it was true, if he was blinded from the truth by her. He had been distracted, there was no denying that. He should never have brought a woman aboard in the first place. The men had made their feelings known as soon as they saw her, but since then they had quieted, some even seeming to enjoy her presence. Especially when she sang for them. If Brady and others amongst the crew were unhappy, so be it. To blacken her name with the suspicion of witchcraft, however, was intolerable.
Roderick frowned, tried to force the thoughts back, while clutching her warm body to his. The troubled images wouldn’t leave. They had a rule aboard the Libertas. No women. So why had he been swayed that night on Billingsgate docks, when she’d stepped out of the darkness and begged for safe passage? Was it witchcraft? Or was it just that he wanted her? God knows he wanted her now. Passion arose between them even though the doubts were there, even though it had come to this—arguments and surly behavior amongst the men.
Still, he could not keep away from her. Tonight had showed that clearly enough. He wanted her more than any other woman. That, above all, served as a warning to him. He was a seafaring man, and had no right to be thinking the way he was. He had obligations, to his crew and to Gregor Ramsay. He couldn’t let a woman beguile him, lead him off course.
Then she shifted in her sleep, waking slightly, holding tight to him still, before drifting off again, and Roderick could only be glad of this moment.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cyrus’s frustration had reached its boiling point. The excruciatingly slow journey was made worse by the tedium of being at sea. Whilst the navy shipmen seemed happy and busy at their tasks, he was left to fester in his narrow quarters, where the roll of the ship made him reach for the piss pot to vomit in. The only alternative was to pace the deck, gripping the rail and staring ahead at the blustery clouds and the horizon, as if he could bring it closer faster, could wish it by magic. If only he could! But alas, his precious source of magic had been whisked away from him.
Tormented with questions and possibilities about Margaret’s whereabouts and her safety, and sickened by the sea travel, he could not sleep or eat. Most of all it was her intentions that plagued him. Surely she could not mean to leave him? Bile gathered in his gut when he considered it. No, she’d been swayed, or she’d been mistaken in going aboard the vessel. There had to be a reason. Seething silently over her departure, he found his anger growing with each passing moment. Even if she’d been influenced she should have known better. Margaret was an intelligent young woman. He’d spent enough on her education. Maybe too much. Perhaps he should have kept her ignorant and grateful, the way she had been at first. There were no acceptable grounds for this scheme of hers. He was wasting his time and energy fetching her back. Once he had her under his command again she would have to learn to accept her servitude to him more gratefully.
Cyrus was also exceedingly frustrated by Captain Giles Plimpton. The man’s attitude gave him no confidence. Cyrus had the feeling it was merely an urge to impress that motivated the captain, and not a true dedication to the mission. This was especially noticeable once the captain discovered that Cyrus was a notable orator. Captain Plimpton subsequently detailed his own personal history and expertise at length, and stated that he hoped Cyrus would report favorably on His Majesty’s navy, now that he was experiencing it firsthand.
Cyrus had to force a suitable acknowledgment. He would be much more likely to speak well of him if the captain showed any sense of urgency. Captain Plimpton commanded many men aboard three ships, for two smaller vessels followed their own, and yet it seemed as if they would never catch up with this ship called the Libertas. Now, for a second time in their two days at sea, they had dropped anchor and were waiting on a rowboat that had gone ashore for some reason unknown to Cyrus.
Cyrus watched the boat disappear off toward the harbor and then eventually make its return. The day before, when he’d asked the purpose of this diversion, he was told they collected navy papers from Harwich, where there was a large naval establishment. This time, however, the two men that had been dispatched brought back no extra goods or supplies, which irritated Cyrus immensely. Another waste of time.
He was just about to turn and head below deck to the pitiful quarters he had been allocated, when he heard the captain call his name.
“Master Lafayette. It seems the Libertas stopped at Lowestoft overnight. It was noted by several of our informers.” Captain Plimpton smiled broadly.
Cyrus’s attention sharpened. “How long ago?”
“A day since they set sail. We are gaining on them.” Captain Plimpton looked rather smug. “They are bound for Dundee. We’ll have them before they reach the Tay estuary, maybe even by Berwick.”
“I’m most impressed, Captain.”
“You will be. We’ll find your ward even if we have to take the Libertas apart board by board.”
“Margaret must not be harmed,” Cyrus retorted.
“Leave that to me. We will secure your ward before any subsequent action is taken.”
“Excellent. I will speak highly of your talents in my record of this endeavor.”
Plimpton beamed. “Rest assured there are no ships faster than the British navy vessels.”
No ships faster, Cyrus thought to himself, except perhaps the ship with a powerful young witch aboard.
They were gaining, however. Soon enough he would have his prize back. Cyrus thought on their reunion. She would be grateful and subdued once again, ready to take on her role as his wife. It was her place, because there he could best control and exploit her. It would be soon, and then he would bed her. Maybe he wouldn’t even wait until they were married. Too long it was already that he’d savored the anticipation of the event. He’d watched her grow into womanhood, her pale skin enticing him, the swell of her breasts a constant torment while he imagined her virginal body beneath his as he claimed her for his own. Yes, that would be a pleasure indeed.
Then he could reap the rewards of her empowered magic, and she would acknowledge that he was the only man in the world who knew how to protect her, how to make her feel safe and flourish.
* * *